Filed under Emotion

WHAT IF

BROKEN HEART

 

 

What if I hadn’t gone to that wedding, and humoured the best man, who I found repulsive and stepped on my toes. He had been ‘recovering from something’ and I had to dance with him, being the maid of honour.  I kept my face away from him, and dropped his hands like a stone once the song was over. He found solace in the sister in law and I was saved from his advances. Sometimes when you find someone so unappealing it’s like a foul odour you want to waft away. All at once we can find people either repellent or intoxicating.

 

What If when I got back home from that trip, I hadn’t contracted swine flu; the flu that meant I was unable to keep anything down, or move my limbs much, or keep my eyes open, or do anything but sleep in a weak and delirious stupor.

What if I hadn’t been shivering to the point where I felt like my body was made of ice and all the heat in the world wouldn’t thaw me out.

As a consequence I crawled with my blanket to be by the fire to warm my chilled flesh on the hot coals emitting a soothing heat, pinching the duvet under my chin to comfort myself, switching the television on in that moment, to pass the time.

I could have crawled back to bed, but I didn’t. I could have laid down but I didn’t. I could have continued to watch the flames lick the logs but instead I chose to watch that particular channel. And at that very moment, that show flickered across the monitor.

Within the first 30 seconds, you appeared.

What if I had never  laid eyes on you?

You filling up my screen with your presence, being so witty and attractive. Me being utterly mesmerized and not being able to take my eyes off you.  I wanted you the moment I saw you. Without for a second contemplating that it would or could ever happen. But I did meet you. And I did touch your face and I did witness your stormy eyes firsthand.

The sound of you messaging, like cocaine for the soul. Any mention of you. Seeing your name emblazoned on my phone screen.

Maybe if I  was stronger I could handle the pain. The kind of pain that feels like splinters in your stomach, waking you up with a kick in the early morning hours. Once again  the realization that you are not next to me.

What if I could stop sobbing over the thing that I never had in the first place? Because I never had you. The deep throaty sobs that catch in my windpipe and leave me exhausted, my eyes burning.

What would be different?

Would I have had another heartache? Would there be nobody crushing my paper heart in their palm?

Would there be someone else enveloping me in their arms and telling me it’s going to be okay? Or would I have been alone, none the wiser, sitting by the fire and watching something else entirely.

I wonder; what if I hadn’t fallen for you?

 

I feel crushed.

All Tied Up

reaching

How do you unfurl somebody?

 

Somebody that you care for so much, yet they don’t allow themselves to care that much for you.

Somebody tied so tight in a knot. And then you come along, tugging at that knot, threatening to undo it.

They might even secretly feel good about it. It might spark some long dormant emotions. It might awaken a fire long thought of as extinguished. A desire not sated but quietened.

But you don’t want that. Your knot is so tight it makes you numb, but it’s all you’ve ever known. You take comfort in that knot.

If only you would loosen your grip of the situation. To embrace the warmth and light:

me.

But you won’t ever do that..

Am I strangling myself with the loose tethers you allow me?  Probably.

Every now and then I give some slack and I feel you slipping away. That’s when something brings us back together. We never truly let go. But you hold onto the peripheral of me. Not the whole of me.

I  just want to embrace the part of you that you conceal from me. Not these frayed ends that you reluctantly allow me to perceive.

But you have anchored yourself to a rotten post. One you’ve been attached to for a long time. One that once bore you fruit but now you are mounted to this wizened tree stump, striking you with its dagger-ous limbs. Every lance to the face only serving to convince you that you earned it. You enjoy the punishment. You think you deserve it.

My palm is constantly open to you. My finger tips stretching towards you, reaching desperately for you in the darkness. Hoping you’ll receive me, but you never do.

Maybe I should close my hand.

You are sinking, you and your post. Not voraciously; you won’t be gorged by a rapid quicksand. Yours is a slow and insidious journey. The steady envelopment of your soul until one day you realise you can’t breathe.

One day your hand may finally reach out to mine, when you are just about to suffocate.

But the question is, will I still be there to take it?

 

ROPE ON A WIRE

 

Frustration

I’ve been grumpy lately.

 

The emotion propelling this is frustration.

I am frustrated about a number of things. Relationships, money, creative satisfaction and so forth. The usual I suppose; we are all in the same boat.

 

Well, some of us are, some of us are on Yachts, so they won’t know what I’m on about..

 

If you look up the definition of Frustration in the dictionary, the result is this:

 

The feeling of being upset or annoyed as a result of being unable to change, or achieve something.

 

This is bang on the money. On both counts.

There are things I can’t change, things that occupy my already noisy mind. Things I lie awake at night, obsessing over.

 

Then there are the things I want to achieve that I haven’t yet.

 

Mostly I get frustrated with myself.

Wanting to be better, more successful, more proactive, make better decisions,  etc – the list goes on.

I’m frustrated that I’m not where I think I should be at this time.

 

Of course to quote Megan in Bridesmaids:

 ‘You’re your problem Annie, but you are also your solution’  

A bloody amazing movie, that rang true for me on so many levels. She’s creative but had failures, her love life sucks, and she drives a trusty shitbox. The only thing is her wardrobe is so much more glorious than mine. Really, they should have asked me before using my life story, but, whatever!

 

There is hope and clarity in Megan’s  statement. It’s true. I just need to fix things for myself. It may appear to those who don’t know better, that I’m impatient. But I feel like these things are a long time coming.

 

I’ve always worked hard, in any job I’ve taken on. No matter how big or small, I’ve always given it 100%. When I cleaned tables at a Debenhams cafe one summer, (after graduating with a very good degree I might add) my colleague, a slovenly boy, would sit out the back and read his books, shirking his role, whilst smoothing his gelled hair off his face. I would keep busy, wiping the marble tables and scooping the crumbs into my cloth. The manager came by one day and said he’d never seen anyone as hard working as me. I privately beamed.

 

Little did he know, that for me, this was a piece of cake. I’ve never been shy of hard work – having been employed by my parents to work their farm from a young age.

 

When I worked a bar, whilst studying for my Masters, I routinely took the most sales, and made the most tips. I worked 14 hour shifts and served in a sweaty bar, 6 deep, surrounded by clouds of thick smoke (pre ban). It wasn’t pleasant, but I did it, and I did it with gusto.

 

The point is, I’m a hard worker. I’m not precious. I’m not averse to work and starting at the bottom if I have to. It’s getting the right opportunity that seems to be the kicker.

 

I sent an email to the head of CBBC once. I asked if I could make his tea and get some experience. He was very nice. He asked me what I really wanted to do? As people who do this ‘just make really bad tea’ – he had a sense of humour. I said anything creative to do with production – writing ideally, or presenting – just being involved in the creative process. He asked me to send him a video, which was just wonderful. I felt hopeful.  I did – and he liked it. But he ended up leaving the position shortly after and nothing came of it. I guess it was a long shot. But it was disappointing no less.

 

After my amazing summer studying at the inspiring American Academy of dramatic Arts, I was invited onto their prestigious two year program in New York. I never wanted anything more. I gained a $10,000 scholarship but needed a further $20,000 for fees, and about 10 grand more in the bank. I wrote to every funding body there was.

The amount I collectively raised?

Zero.

We were in a recession and everyone was keeping their purse strings closed tight under their chins.

So I had to turn down the opportunity.  To say I was gutted would be an understatement. I felt like I’d been dumped.

I’m not trying to make anyone feel sorry for me. I’m trying to explain where my head is at.

I need to be sated on a creative level, and that’s not happening. Certainly not being sated on an emotional level. And that’s too complicated for even me to wrap my head around. There are things at play that we cannot control, however much we want to. Maybe I need to accept some things, maybe that’s the problem.

For the most part though, I will pursue in the face of adversity.

So yes, forgive me if I’m grumpy,  I’m frustrated.  Extend some compassion, because I will always do the same.

I’m still working things out.  For those of you on the yachts, I’m hanging onto the lifeboat, and it’s bumpy back here.

 

In the meantime, I do have a few irons in the fire.

 

Let’s hope they ignite.

 

 

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